Lost
by Lily and Shadow
Summary: Matt had never considered himself special and he never could have guessed that any of this would happen to him. Companion to Inequity, Anomaly, Fallen. name/series spoilers, rated for content. EDITING & HIATUS
1. Sparks, Nevada, USA

**A/N: **Hola. Welcome to the third story in this set of four. This is a companion to Anomaly (Near) and Fallen (Mello) and it will follow Matt. Now all I have left is to start on L's, which will probably be the one to give me the most problems. On a slightly different - but still relevant - note, I think I'm finally rid of my writer's block! Anyway, a little about this. Yes, Matt swears. A lot. Actually, I love writing Matt like this because he's kind of in your face and he's got this screw the world attitude that just makes him a lot of fun. He's pretty uninhibited beyond all his issues because he just doesn't care. He's very world-weary. And yes, he is very young right now, but he's still that kind of rough, street-wise kid. I think this is actually going to be my favourite out of these because with Matt I can just make the story raw and I like doing that. Ok, enough rambling. Shutting up now. On with the chapter.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Death Note.

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_Lost - (adj.) Having gone astray or missed the way. Destroyed or ruined. Distracted; distraught; desperate; hopeless._

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Matt sat in the middle of his bed, hugging his knees to his chest and resting his chin atop them as he stared blankly at the wall. He hadn't unpacked yet because surely there was no need. He was certain they would just ship him off to some freak family or another orphanage within the next month. In silence he brought one hand up to trace the bruise around his eye. It had faded some, but it wasn't gone yet by any means. Quietly he let his gaze trail over to the mirror on the back of the door. He didn't feel like wondering right now. It was all he could do, most of the time, but he just didn't feel like it at the moment. Actually, he didn't feel like doing much of anything at the moment.

He still wasn't quite sure what had happened. Four days ago the orphanage he'd been in told him he was going to be adopted by someone named Quillsh Wammy from a small town just outside of London, England. The first thing that confused Matt was that he was being adopted by someone from England. But that became the least of his worries when he arrived at this place. Quillsh Wammy was the name he'd been given as that of his new adoptive father, and now here he sat in a high-risk wing of another orphanage. Wammy's House for Gifted Orphans. Matt was convinced there had been some sort of mistake. He wasn't gifted in any sense of the word. In fact, he considered himself to be below average. Far below.

But his confusion didn't end there. After he got past the name of the place there was the whole alias business. He had been assigned the name Matt. He didn't understand it in the least, but quite frankly he didn't care. They could call him whatever the hell they wanted to as long as they fed him, put a roof over his head, and didn't hurt him. One other thing that confused him was that he had yet to meet anyone named Quillsh Wammy. He had been sceptical and a bit scared when he was told he was to be adopted by someone from England. With his track record he had been, and was still, sure that this was going to be a disaster. But if things went bad here, he wasn't sure what he'd do. It was different in America. He'd grown up there. He knew the culture and he knew how things worked. About all he had going for him here was that he spoke the language and even then British English was strange to him. He'd been abandoned plenty of times back in the U.S. and he'd made it ok because he knew the way things worked in that country. He didn't know what he would do if he was dumped here. Or if he had to run again, he reminded himself, passing his fingers once more over the remainders of a black eye.

His last family had been the worst so far, and that was saying something. It had been the only time he had run. Before he had always stayed put even if they hurt him, because being part of a family, even a dysfunctional one, was better than living in an orphanage. Quietly he gazed at the mirror, taking in his auburn hair, his shocking green eyes, his light freckles, his long-limbed, lanky build, and wondering. Did he have his mother's eyes, or her mouth, or her freckles? Did he have his father's hair, his build, his nose? He didn't know. Chances were he would never know. Sometimes he wondered why his parents had done what they had done. Or perhaps it had been solely his mother's decision. She had been young, and that was all he had besides her name and the name of the place she had left him. As far as anyone could guess he had been born in Reno-Sparks, Nevada.

"'City of Promise' my ass," he muttered under his breath.

All he knew of his mother was her name, that she had been sixteen when he was born, and that she had left him at a police station. He had no pictures of either parent, no letter left for him to explain why he had been abandoned, no birth certificate even. Actually, he didn't know anything about his father. No name, no age, nothing. He wasn't even sure if his mother had used her real name when she turned him over. And from there things had only gotten worse. He supposed he should be thankful his mother hadn't killed him out of fear like teen mothers sometimes did, but he often found himself thinking it would have been better for all involved if she had. He knew he shouldn't think that way, but he couldn't help it. It wasn't healthy, but he didn't care. He just wanted the chaos to stop and death would do that. He had come close after he had run from his last family. He'd been sick at the time and it had been cold. It had taken the better part of a week for them to find him and in that time he had only eaten anything close to a decent meal twice and had barely managed to keep from freezing. Street smarts were a poor match for late December temperatures. From what they had told him, Wammy had contacted the next to last orphanage he had been in just days after he had been taken in by his last family and had contacted that last orphanage as soon as he was found, but it had taken them two weeks to get him healthy enough that travel was a possibility. He was still sick now, but not like he had been. At least now he wasn't convinced he was going to die, though perhaps it would have been better that way. He still didn't see how he'd been let into the country with the condition he was in. He was pretty sure they usually tried to keep out people who had the potential to start a plague. Really he wasn't that sick, but after the seemingly endless flight over here he certainly felt like it.

And finally, after the whirlwind rush of cities and transits and airports and oceans and planes and subways and taxi cabs and busses and luggage and escorts and customs and emigration and immigration and undergrounds and foreign places and foreign people and being foreign and insanity that had that been the last two days, here he sat in some strange orphanage in a little town called Thurrock just down the Thames from London freaking England. He felt like hell at the moment, which was just so revoltingly fitting since he looked it too, all pale and covered in bruises as he was. He could feel the worry gnawing at the edges of his mind, making his stomach turn so that he felt nauseous. He had tried so hard on the way here to tell himself that things were going to get better, and for a short while he had even almost believed it, but now that he was here he wasn't so sure. But he was still ill and injured, so the best thing to do would be just sit tight. He would take the next few days to calmly assess the situation and then he would act accordingly. With that decision made he flopped over on his side and curled up, content to sleep. After all, the last couple of days had been the very definition of chaos.

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	2. Reno, Nevada, USA

**A/N:** Hola. Chapter 2. So we're just gonna pretend this _hasn't_taken me nearly a month. I've been working on Fallen. Umm... I really don't have too much to say. On with the chapter.

Thank you to Yumiaria, Nanairo Suishou, Kaze Kimizu, and Reese Craven for reviewing!

**Warning:** Name spoilers for Matt.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Death Note.

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When Matt woke it was to the cold, grey light of early morning. Quietly he rose and walked to the window, taking a moment to study the frost patterns that had formed there and remind himself that English winters were just as harsh as American winters, just with a little less snow since he wasn't immediately south of a Great Lake anymore. As he stood looking out over the desolate moorland he suddenly felt horribly alone. The intensity of it almost made him stumble as though it had been a physical blow. He felt so tiny, so cold, so unwanted, and so utterly empty. He had no one and nowhere to turn. Everything was so far gone. The parents he hadn't quite yet given up hope of finding, his hope of escaping the system, his entire past, it was all back across the Atlantic in America. He was nothing but a stranger in a strange land here, unfamiliar with the territory and its inhabitants.

Silently he turned away from the window and wandered aimlessly across the room. He could feel that nothingness weighing on him as though it might crush him; an emptiness washing over him like a tidal wave, damp and heavy, that threatened to drown him. When he reached the opposite wall he pressed his palms and his forehead against it and just leaned there before pulling back a fist and striking the wall as hard as he could.

"Damnit," he growled under his breath, turning to lean his back against the wall and examine his hand.

He could feel tears stinging behind his eyes, but he would not let them fall. Slowly he slid down the wall and pulled his knees to his chest. He felt empty. Just empty. And there was that ghost of an idea again that perhaps it would have been better if his mother had killed him, or if he had died three weeks ago when he ran. It was too much. All of it was just too much.

Matt didn't realize he was crying until he had to take his goggles off because of the tears collecting in them. He was faintly aware of someone knocking on the door and he realized that he didn't know what time it was. None of that mattered though, and he just ignored the knocking in the hopes that whoever it was would go away.

"Matt," someone called through the door.

But that only made the boy cry harder as he thought about his name. He was not Matt, but neither was he Mail. He wasn't anybody. Just some kid no one wanted because he was annoying and stupid and only ever managed to cause trouble.

"Matt?"

This time it was a question, but Matt ignored it nonetheless. He didn't want to talk right now or see anyone and any news would probably be bad. They wouldn't want him. They would send him away. Matt hardly noticed when the door opened.

"Matt? What's wrong?"

It was the old caretaker, Roger. He had only opened the door enough to see Matt sitting beside it.

"Huh?" Matt sniffed, trying to wipe away his tears before they could be noticed.

"I heard you crying. Is everything alright?" he asked.

Matt eyed him warily for a moment before whispering, "How long will I be here?"

"What do you mean?" Roger asked.

"How long are you going to keep me?" the child clarified.

Roger took note of the boy's expression. He looked tired. Or maybe tired wasn't the right word. It was more than just tired. He seemed beyond hope. "This is your home now."

"Right," Matt nodded, turning his head to look out the window. "But how long is this going to be my home before you send me somewhere else?"

"Matt, we aren't going to send you away," Roger said gently, watching as Matt brought a hand up to trace what was left of a black eye. The boy had nodded in response, but his expression said he thought Roger was lying. The old man sighed softly. Matt just needed time. Eventually he'd realize they weren't going to send him away, but for now he was hurt and he just needed time to heal.

Matt ignored the sound of the door closing. He just kept his gaze steady, focused on the moor and the trees beyond, feeling the silent tears slipping down his cheeks.

It was shortly after noon before Matt moved at all. All morning he just sat on the floor next to the door and stared out at the trees and let his mind wander, only doing anything about it when his thoughts became too grim. But shortly after noon he finally seemed to realize that he had slept in yesterday's clothes which, as a consequence of travel, were also the day before's clothes. It wasn't that that bothered him overmuch – he had spent too much time on the streets for that – but he preferred to be clean when that was an option.

Silently he rose from where he sat and took a towel from the closet and a clean set of clothes from his bag. He glanced around the hall before he left his room, making sure there was no one else around because he really didn't want to deal with anyone right now.

The shower helped to ease his nerves a bit. It would have done more to that effect if he hadn't stood for so long watching the water run over the fading scratches and bruises. How many times had he seen them? Just looked at them? He was sure that some of what he was seeing was no longer visible to anyone but him, but that didn't matter. This was his past. This was what he had become. Beaten, broken, discarded. That's how it always went. Maybe not always as physical as this, but that was the general cycle of his life. They destroyed him and left him to die. He had never really known what it was to have a home or a family. No one wanted him. He was worthless. Even his own mother had not wanted him.

That thought brought tears to his eyes once more, but he blinked them away. He could be stronger than that. He had to be, if for no other reason than to prove to himself that he wasn't completely worthless. Really none of this was new, so he wasn't sure why it bothered him so much. Certainly it wasn't something he was happy about, but it wasn't always so bad. The caretaker hadn't hit him for crying. Seemingly of their own accord his fingers moved to his side to trace an ugly yellow blotch that marred the pale skin stretched over his exposed ribs. He was weak. The marks were proof of that. He would not be weak anymore.

Still, he wasn't sure how long he could last in a place like this. This was a home, supposedly, for "gifted orphans." He was not gifted. He wasn't intelligent at all. Actually, he was two grades behind in school and even then his grades had been dismal. Surely once they realized that they wouldn't want him anymore. He was an idiot; nothing more or less than a total failure. That realization was just as painful as ever and he closed his eyes against the despair that came with knowing beyond a doubt that he would be abandoned again.

By this time the water had run cold and he was clean anyway. Still, he felt cloudy. He didn't turn off the water, but just stood under the cold spray as though that could wash away the fog from his mind. He simply stayed there until he was shivering and his fingernails had turned a dark purple. It was a stupid thing to do, he knew that. He still wasn't completely over being sick as it was. But somehow he couldn't bring himself to care. Actually, he found himself almost hoping he'd get sick again and he wondered briefly exactly when he had come to have a death-wish.

It didn't seem so unreasonable, though. Wanting to die, that was. He had no place and no purpose, no one to cling to and nowhere to run. What kind of life was that? Was it living at all? So why shouldn't he think of ending it? He may as well be dead anyway. Really he had died the moment he was abandoned.

By the time he got back to his room he was still shivering and the clock indicated that it should be close to time for dinner. He had no appetite, though. He was just cold and tired. Quietly he curled up on the bed with his back against the wall and waited for sleep to make everything go away for awhile.


	3. Carson City, Nevada, USA

**A/N:**Hola. Chapter 3. So it's been forever and this chapter's still really short. Sorry! I've been having trouble writing. I'm home for the summer and something about being here just kills my writing. But I'll shut up now. On with the chapter.

Thank you to ClOuDs-N-rAiNbOwS, Kaze Kimizu, and cratermaker for reviewing! Thank you to everyone reading this for being so patient with me!

**Disclaimer:** Honestly, do I even need to say it?

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Four days had passed since Matt's arrival. Four days of solitude and avoiding everyone. Four days of sleeping too much and eating too little. Four days of spending every waking moment wondering how long he had before he was abandoned again. It seemed from what he could gather that this place was also a school, but they were currently on break. It was January second, after all. Roger had come by to check on him the second day and each day since then an old lady, Anne was her name, had come to see that he was alright. She had already been by this morning to make sure he went to breakfast.

Of course, he didn't actually talk to anyone, which is what the old caretaker had been hoping for. What was the point of making friends when he would be leaving soon anyway? After all, this was a school for the gifted and he was anything but. With a sigh he rested his head on his chin and stared out at the other children playing in the yard. He watched them smile and remembered the times when he'd been able to forget about his situation and just smile like that. They were few and far between, but he held the memories dear.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice someone push the door open just a bit. It wasn't until he had grown bored of watching the others that he noticed the tiny white haired child standing at the door. As soon as he spotted the boy, however, he was gone. That more than anything was what sparked the redhead's curiosity.

Silently he slid from the window sill and crept out the door just in time to see the boy disappear into a room down the hall. Quietly as he could he padded over to the door, bare feet making little noise against the wood floor. He tried the knob and found it unlocked, so he pushed the door open. It swung back with a soft creak to reveal a nervous looking little boy crouched in the middle of the floor. Matt watched the boy watching him for a few moments before speaking.

"Why were you at my door?" the redhead asked quietly.

The tiny boy didn't reply.

"Are you deaf?" Matt asked, though he knew that wasn't the case just from watching the child. "Mute?"

The boy shifted a little, but gave no other acknowledgement of the question.

"What's your name?" Matt tried again.

Still no answer. Finally Matt conceded with a sigh and turned to leave when a small voice stopped him.

"Near."

It was so soft that Matt wasn't sure he'd heard correctly.

"What?" he asked.

"My name," the boy whispered, staring at the floor. 'It's Near."

The redhead gave a sharp nod. "Why were you at my door?"

Near just stared at him.

"I thought so," Matt muttered under his breath.

The boy's only response was to stare at the floor.

"I don't bite, I promise," the redhead assured him, although that wasn't necessarily true. He only bit if he was provoked, and he got the feeling this kid wouldn't provoke him. "Where'd you come from?"

The white haired boy just stared at him, then turned to gaze out the window.

"Alright, bad question," Matt said. "I guess I'll go."

He didn't see Near turn to watch his retreating back as he walked from the room. Instead he simply went back to his room and stared at his reflection in the mirror. That was how he had spent the past few days, just staring and wondering. But this time as he took in his red hair, freckles, and bruises he thought of the other children he had met. The other orphans, runaways, abuse cases and sob stories. Images flashed through his memory of hundreds of children. At first he had wondered what had become of his friends from that first orphanage, but not anymore. Eventually he had given up on ever knowing. After a while, though, he found his thoughts drifting to Near. Who was he, really? Why did he act so scared and broken? Had his life been like Matt's? The red haired child could only wonder. But again he found himself giving up on the idea of pondering anyone's life but his own. What was the point, after all? Surely he would be parted from anyone he dared to befriend within a few weeks' time. With a sigh he lay back on his bed, content for now that he had a roof over his head and a warm place to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Hello all,

To anyone still reading these, just a quick note to say these are no longer officially on hiatus. It's been a good three years since I worked on them, I know, but I really want to come back to them. I started pulling things off the site – stories with their notes and reviews – because ffn has begun purging stories it deems "inappropriate" (quick tip, AO3 is a lot more forgiving of its fanficers and has a more forgiving rating system too), and ironically that got me rereading these and wanting to work on them again.

I'm currently working on Inequity. I don't have Aberrational (BB's) started really. I've got about a paragraph. And it looks like Forsaken, Mello's new story (since Fallen seems to have just kind of come out of left field) never even made it up on the site in the first place. But I think the whole posting them in order is going to kind of go out the window. I didn't start writing them in order, after all. The order is Inequity, Aberrational, Anomaly, Lost, and Forsaken.

But that said, I think I'm done with this hiatus. I was kind of in a fanfic slump for about two years before I recently got into the Sherlock fandom and going back through some of the Death Note fanfics I read and wrote makes me want to get back into that fandom as well. So hopefully, once this huge midterm paper I should be working on atm is finished, you'll start seeing more chapters of these.

Shadow


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